


What the Champion Wants

by Moonsault, orphan_account



Series: Three Tres Bien Amigos [4]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Kayfabe Compliant, Multi, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 16:17:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10312190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonsault/pseuds/Moonsault, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: El Generico doesn't understand a lot of things.  But he does understand that he and Sami and Kevin are meant to be together for as long as possible.





	

El Generico doesn’t tend to think in _words,_ exactly. There are a lot of feelings, a lot of images. Sensations. The touch of sunlight, the scent of sagebrush, the sound of thousands of people singing. Words don’t come easily to Generico. Sometimes he feels like if they did, maybe things would be easier for him, and for Kevin and for Sami. For them. But he is what is.

What he is at this moment is frustrated.

He sits on the bed, feet drawn up, and glares at Kevin sleeping on the other bed. It’s been two months since the day after Generico and Sami’s birthday, and since then Kevin has resolutely slept apart from them. Sami won’t talk to him about it, and lately Kevin has taken to pretending he doesn’t understand Generico, even when Generico is shouting at him with his hands, pleading with him with his eyes, lecturing him with every motion he makes: _we’re yours, you idiot. Let’s dance, let’s wrestle, let’s fuck, stop wasting time!_

Kevin’s mouth is slightly open. As Generico watches, his hands twitch slightly, and then he smiles in his sleep. He’s beautiful when he smiles like that. He’s beautiful all the time, but when he smiles--really smiles--there’s a radiance to him that almost blots out the shadow.

Almost.

A tiny line appears between his eyebrows, and the bliss of his expression is marred into something quizzical, doubtful. Yearning. He sighs wistfully.

“I wonder what he’s dreaming of.” Sami has re-appeared from the bathroom, wiping his hands on his jeans, looking at Kevin as if at something too important and too dangerous to touch.

“You,” says Generico, because it’s true, but Sami just smiles sadly and shakes his head.

“Probably winning the titles,” he murmurs. “You guys are going to do it, you know.”

“No,” says Generico, and he means the bright golden beauty Kevin is dreaming of isn’t the titles, but he’s gotten it mixed up again, he’s responded too slowly, to the wrong thing, and now Sami looks almost angry.

“You _will_ win them,” he snaps. “Jacobs and Black don’t stand a chance.”

“Damn right.” Kevin’s voice is thick with sleep. He rubs at his eyes and looks at them, and his face shifts from “sleepy” to “suspicious.” “Are you two nutcases just standing there watching me sleep? Creepy.” There’s hostility in his voice, and fear. Sami shrugs and turns away. Generico bounds over to fling himself onto Kevin’s bed, but by the time he’s there Kevin’s rolled off and out of the way. “Shove off,” he mutters. He’ll only touch Generico in the ring now, his hands hot and greedy and shaking. As if there’s a ration of how much happiness he’s allowed and he’s exceeding it with every touch.

 _For God’s sake,_ Generico says to Sami with an outflung hand, a tilted head, _I can’t do this without you, I can’t keep him open, I can’t keep the shadow from consuming him from within, I need your help, why are you so fucking obtuse?_ But Sami is refusing to listen to Generico’s body anymore, and when Generico stammers “ _Amigo._ Help?” Sami just says that Kevin and Generico don’t need his help to win the titles and starts throwing his gear into his bag. 

Generico is tempted to beat his head against the wall, but that won’t help either.

* * *

They do win the titles, because of course they do, they’re the best tag team in the world. The ring is full of magic, Generico can feel it, all that bright beautiful potential like sunlight. He throws his arms around Kevin and feels him laughing, but he’s crying too. He’s crying and Generico can see his eyes scanning the entrance ramp as if he’s waiting for something, waiting for something. 

When they get to the back, Sami comes toward them as if to throw himself into Kevin’s arms, his eyes alight with joy.

Kevin shoves him aside, his face gone dark and angry. “Why didn’t you come out?” he snarls. “Why weren’t you there with us in the ring to celebrate? Don’t you care?”

“I--” All of the bright open happiness in Sami’s face and body flickers and goes out. “It was _your_ moment, the two of you. It wasn’t…” He looks helplessly at Generico. “It wasn’t the right time,” he finishes, his voice faltering. 

His eyes plead with Generico: _explain it to him._ But Generico doesn’t have the words. Sami’s never been in the ring at the same time as Generico. Not in IWS, not in PWG, not in RoH. It’s never felt like the right time. It’s not something that should be done lightly, Generico knows this in his bones. But what moment could be more important than this one, their moment of triumph? He shakes his head, confused, and Kevin makes an angry sound and slams away into the showers.

Sami looks after him, and his eyes are so lost and sad that Generico aches through and through. “I understand,” he says, kissing Sami on the forehead. 

“I know you do,” Sami sighs. “I wanted to be there. I _did._ ”

“I know,” Generico says, but his knowledge and his understanding aren’t enough.

Kevin fumes silently all the way back to their hotel room, his shoulders hunched with misery. The shadow seems to fill up the whole room as he hurls himself onto the bed, turning his face to the wall.

Sami stares at him, and for a moment Generico is afraid that he’ll just give up, that he’ll turn around and walk away. But then he throws his arms out and yells “What do you _want_ from me?” 

Kevin flinches at the sound of his voice.

“Just tell me what you want and I swear I’ll do it!” Sami says.

“Tell,” Generico echoes. 

“I want you to leave me alone!” Kevin wails, and Sami’s face goes blank with pain. But before Sami can respond, Kevin takes a hitching breath and goes on, as through the sound of hearing himself say _want_ has opened some floodgate within: “I want you to be happy for us, I want you to celebrate with us, I want you to touch me, I want you to promise you’ll never leave me, I want you here in bed with me, I want you to tell me it’s okay, that I’m not sick and wrong and horrible because I need you both so much, I want you both _so much--_ ” 

Generico didn’t understand a lot of that, but he _did_ understand “I want you to touch me,” and so he throws himself on top of Kevin. “Champion!” he announces. “You are champion. You can have what you want when you are champion.”

It’s one of the longest speeches he’s ever made in English, and he’s quite proud of it. Kevin stares at him as though he’s said something amazing. “I can have what I want,” he repeats. “When I’m champion.” He looks at Sami.

Sami crosses his arms and glares back at him. “So what do you want, _champ?_ ”

“ _¡Ven aca!”_ Generico says, because he’s a champion too, right? Doesn’t he get what he wants? But maybe he picked the wrong language, because Sami doesn’t join them on the bed, he just keeps looking at Kevin.

“I want…” Kevin hesitates, and for a second Generico’s afraid the shadow is going to win, that he’s going to tell them to go away, and then Generico will have to. But then he rests his hand on the shining new championship belt as if taking a vow, and he takes a deep breath and he says, “I want you to kiss me.”

At the word “kiss,” Sami hurls himself across the room as if he has been holding himself back from sheer force of will. He almost trips and ends up sprawled across the bed, across Kevin and Generico both, kissing the side of Kevin’s head and his forehead and his mouth, his whole body shaking. “What else, what else,” he gasps. “Tell me and I’ll do it, I’ll do it.”

As it turns out, Kevin has an extremely long and detailed list of things he wants, ranging from “Touch me here” to “Tell me how this feels” to “Just fucking _kiss him,_ Generico, Jesus Christ.” And Generico and Sami do what the champion wants, and when his demands start to grow vague and desperate (“I want you to--more of that, yes, Oh God” “I need to--I need to--” “I want you forever, just like this, both of you--” “Yes. That. Now.”) they improvise until eventually they’re all sated and exhausted and in a heap together.

As they lie there together, catching their breath, Sami takes Kevin’s head in his hands and puts his forehead to Kevin’s temple. “It’s okay,” Generico hears Sami whisper. “You’re not sick, or wrong, or horrible. It’s okay.”

Kevin buries his face in the pillow and makes a small, shuddering sound. Generico feels Kevin’s hand tighten on his arm until it almost hurts. He looks up and meets Sami’s eyes, and they look at each other until Kevin’s grip loosens and falls away into sleep.

* * *

“I understand why you said that, about the champion getting to do what he wants, but I’m not sure it was a good idea,” says Sami later, leaning over the balcony to stare into the motel parking lot. Behind them the door to their room is slightly ajar, and Generico can hear Kevin’s soft snoring from inside.

“ _¿Por qué?”_ It got them what they wanted, what they needed, right? Generico can’t regret that.

“Well,” says Sami, “He’s not going to be champion forever, right? What happens when you lose the belts?”

Generico frowns. It’s hard to imagine a time when they’re not champions, as they were always meant to be. Now is always now, and now is what’s important. A memory comes to him, golden and vague: there’s bright hot sunlight and the scent of sagebrush in it, and someone’s voice saying _We love each other, and that’s all that matters, right? Enjoy this moment and let the future take care of itself._ In the memory, he is safe and happy and loved. He isn’t sure when it is, but he knows he agrees with that voice. He wants to explain it all to Sami, but the words fail him again. He waves his hands vaguely and Sami laughs under his breath.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, I guess,” says Sami.

“Bridge,” Generico says, but he’s not sure he likes the term. In his mind, he sees a long bridge, high and wind-blown. With so much dark, cold water running underneath it. But: “We cross,” he says, like a promise or a pledge.

Sami laughs and kisses the side of his head, and Generico would do _anything_ for him, for his sweet wild brother whose heart drew him across the world. He’s crossed a hundred bridges for him and he’ll do it again.

 _Let the future take care of itself,_ he reminds himself, and lets any worry fall away like a moonsault.


End file.
